Chapter 2
Two
Rhys had not slept the night before because he was doing one of the things he did best—listening.
In the afternoon, he had strolled through the markets and made purchases to gauge the mood and struggles of the residents, then spent the evening sitting near French officers at their favorite tavern gathering further information, before he left to scout the ports, then approached the main French stronghold, Fort Desaix, under the cover of darkness to once again determine the strength of their defenses.
He hadn’t left Fort-de-France until this morning, after not having slept, made the trek back to the hut and now wanted to sleep.
He had been looking forward to his bed as he walked home, totally unsuspecting that he’d been invaded.
Rhys had also hoped that by disrobing in front of her that Miss Driscoll would have run away scandalized and sought shelter someplace else, but she hadn’t.
Though, he had enjoyed the blush on her lovely cheeks as she stared at his naked chest and had she not been a miss and if children were not about, he might have engaged in a more intimate activity before he slumbered.
Unfortunately, that had not been the case and he already knew that until the females were retrieved from the island, his living circumstances were not going to be pleasurable.
Those were his last thoughts as he drifted off only to be startled awake by banging on the walls, stomping on the terrasse and the shrill cry of a child.
He sat up in bed and scrambled to the door in fear the French soldiers had discovered them, only to find the children were playing…or doing their best to make certain that he was disturbed.
“Mr. McNaught, the children!” Miss Driscoll chastised. “Please be properly dressed before making your appearance.”
He glanced down and remembered that he only wore trousers, then returned inside and grabbed the light linen shirt. “I thought the British had invaded,” he called out.
“Oh, did we wake you?” He grimaced at her overly-sweet tone.
“You know bloody well that you did,” he said and stepped back outside. “And you did it on purpose.”
“Really, Mr. McNaught, your language.” She gestured toward the children.
He couldn’t dress as he wanted, and he needed to watch his language, what else would she demand?
“I thought you were collecting coconuts,” he grumbled.
“We did and they are there.” She gestured to a pile.
“Then why are you not drinking from them or something?” he demanded.
“Because it may be our only meal and we must ration our supplies.”
“I just brought back supplies. Food.” Though it would run out if they were here for long.
“You will share with us?” She seemed surprised that he had no intention of starving them, though it would buy him silence in the end.
“Of course. I am not a monster.” Just out of sorts because there were little girls running around, making noise, and crying, while their censoring older sister’s judgement found him lacking of good character.
“We thank you, Mr. McNaught.” She stepped upon the terrasse as if she were going to enter his domain.
“Not now, I plan on returning to sleep.”
“The children are starving, Mr. McNaught. They have not had a real meal in nearly twenty-four hours. Only coconuts and passion fruit.”
“Can you cook quietly?”
She blew out a sigh. “No, but I will do my best.” She stomped past him and went inside.
Rhys followed and crawled back into his bed and pulled the blanket over his head.
“Tea, where is the tea. There must be tea.” The words were said quietly, but enough to disturb.
“I do not have tea.” He grumbled from beneath the blankets. “Drink coffee.”
“I will not serve the children coffee!” she insisted.
“Then I guess they will be thirsty.”
“Do you have no water either?” she demanded.
“There is a bucket by the stove and there is a stream up the path. You should all go and take your time.”
If they did leave, he’d lock the door behind them but no doubt their return would bring a louder racket than before.
There was also no lock for the door. It was a bloody hut with no security.
* * *
Tempest glared at the lump beneath the blankets, then grabbed the bucket and marched to the door. “Nicoll, take Margaret and follow the path and collect water, please.”
Mr. McNaught grumbled from beneath his blanket but Tempest could not understand his words and it was likely something her younger siblings should not hear.
She usually was not so difficult, but they needed this shelter.
Ellen, the youngest, was only six and could not be expected to live outside, on the beach or in the forest, nor should any of them with Ruth being only eight, Ann ten, and Margaret twelve.
At least Nicoll was six and ten, eight years her junior, yet old enough to be of assistance.
She was also the one sister who should not have viewed Mr. McNaught’s chest, given she was closer to being of marriageable age and should be shielded from such until she was wed.
Therefore, Tempest must make Mr. McNaught understand that he could not walk around partially unclothed.
She should not have even viewed him without his shirt, but she had and would likely never forget the muscles in his chest and arms, better able to take care of himself outside the house than she or her sisters could.
Tempest turned her attention to the foodstuffs that he had shelved along with the items that had been present when she had first arrived.
There was the possibility of small meals, and if they were frugal, there should be enough so as not to run out of food or starve before someone came for them. And, if they ate too much, there were always coconuts and passion fruit.
She paused and glanced at Mr. McNaught. Had the ship’s captain known someone lived here? Had he known that it was Mr. McNaught? If so, he could have warned her that she would be encountering the most unpleasant man in the Caribbean.
Tempest shook her head and dismissed her question. It did not matter because it was something she would not ask Mr. McNaught and with the captain dead, she could not ask him.
Tempest took a loaf of bread and jar of preserves, then set both on the table before she went in search of a knife. This would satisfy their hunger until she could prepare a more filling meal with the supplies that Mr. McNaught generously offered.
She frowned, pursed her lips and glanced at the man-shaped lump under the blanket. He had made the offer without her asking.
Perhaps he wasn’t so rude.
But that didn’t mean she still wasn’t going to claim the hut for her and her sisters.
“Girls, come inside for something to eat,” she called quietly, but loud enough for them to hear, and likely Mr. McNaught too if he was not yet asleep.
They hurried onto the terrasse.
“But please be very quiet, Mr. McNaught needs his sleep.”
“In the middle of the day?” Ann inquired, her tone laced with disapproval.
“He was tired after his long walk from Fort-de-France, which isn’t surprising given his advanced years.”
She shot a quick glance at the lump on the bed to find that Mr. McNaught had pushed the blanket just low enough to glare at her.
Her sisters trailed into the house, then took a seat at the table and while they did try to remain quiet, it was impossible, as she knew it would be because benches scraped the floor, there were whispered comments and then Ruth accidentally bumped Ellen who in turn bit Ruth, which resulted in a rather loud objection.
Mr. McNaught pushed the blanket away from his face, sat up and glared at each of them.
He then stood, took his blanket, pillow, and spyglass and stomped out of the hut only to return, retrieve a bottle of rum and leave again.
At the slam of the door, Tempest tried not to smile but was pleased with her success in getting exactly what she wanted. The house for her and the girls.
It really was his own fault. If he were not being so difficult, they could have worked out an arrangement and she would have been more willing to allow him the rest that he needed.
She and the girls could have eaten outside, but Tempest knew that if she did not stake a claim now, they would have no safe place to sleep.