Chapter 4
Four
After he had eaten, Rhys returned to the hill to make certain the soldiers were still there, which they were, having set up camp and gathered around a cookfire.
Since it was growing dark, and he was confident that they would not be straying anywhere that night, Rhys slipped away and returned to the boat where he retrieved his bottle of rum, then returned to the terrasse where he anticipated spending the night.
He’d sleep in his hammock but it was too far away and he needed to be closer to the hut to protect them.
Unable to get comfortable, he finally leaned back against the house and stared out over the sea and drank from the bottle of rum. He wasn’t concerned about getting drunk. He never drank enough for that, and he certainly couldn’t let his faculties be diminished with French soldiers nearby.
It was going to be a very long night, especially since he could not get the image of Miss Driscoll only in her shift out of his mind.
It was a thinner material and he was certain had he the time to truly take in her appearance, he might have noted her nipples and the darkness at the apex of her thighs.
She was also quite fetching in his trousers and shirt.
This was also not the time for him to be distracted with desire and lust for a miss. That would surely see them caught.
He was still leaning against the hut as dawn was breaking.
He had gotten some sleep, but it had been disturbed.
Each noise alerted him and without opening his eyes, he listened for anything that should not be present such as hushed voices or a foot on a twig, and when there was nothing, he’d crack his eyes, look around, hand on his knife, then drift back asleep.
He also woke exhausted and pulled himself to his feet.
Miss McNaught and her sisters were likely still asleep and he took the opportunity to return to the rise above the beach to make certain the French soldiers had not wandered anywhere other than where they’d stopped.
He found them huddled around their cook fire, a kettle above it as they grasped their mugs and grumbled and complained.
“How long do we wait?” one of them asked.
“If the supplies did not make shore overnight, if they were not already here, we are to return.”
There were more grumbles about the long walk, which really was not so far, and should be an easy excursion for soldiers.
“An hour,” the one said. “We pack up and leave in an hour.”
“What about scouting the area?” a third man asked, which drew Rhys’ attention.
“We scouted, we looked, we listened. Nobody is out here.”
“What about that English fellow?”
“He is not the concern. We were to look for British soldiers. There are none and I am not traipsing all of the forest looking for something that is not there.” He took a drink from his cup, clearly the leader. “We leave in an hour.”
Rhys slipped away and returned to the hut and quietly knocked, though he suspected that the females were still asleep. Instead, the door was opened by the youngest.
He really should learn their names.
“May we come out now.”
“Not yet,” he whispered. “Where is Miss Driscoll?”
“We are all Miss Driscoll,” she answered innocently.
Yes, well, he supposed they were. “Your eldest sister.”
“She is asleep.”
“Could you please wake her and ask her to join me out here.”
The child did not answer, but shut the door in his face.
Rhys paced on the terrasse until Miss Driscoll stepped out.
He then told her everything that he had overheard. “I will follow them back to Fort-de-France, but just in case they decide to scout around, keep the woven blinds down and something pushed against the door so that they cannot enter.
“I will keep the girls quiet and watch through the small break in the blinds.”
He gave a nod and stepped away as she stepped back inside, then went about kicking up dirt and smoothing sand, certain that no signs remained of occupation, then hurried back to watch the soldiers before he followed them all the way back to Fort-de-France.
Not once did they veer off the path, nor were they very good at looking around.
While Rhys was careful to remain back and not be seen, he really could have walked behind them without cover and it was unlikely they would have noticed.
If these were the caliber of soldiers guarding the fort and port, then England would have an easy time of it when it came time to invade.
* * *
Tempest did not know how long it took to walk to Fort-de-France and return and even though the French soldiers were likely gone, she was not going to allow the girls to leave the hut.
Except, it was taking terribly long for Mr. McNaught to return.
What if he had been discovered and captured?
What if he was not coming back?
While he was unpleasant most of the time, she did like having him around and would not want anything to happen to him.
She wouldn’t go so far as to admit that she and her sisters needed the protection of a man, but he did have a gun and she did not.
“I am tired of staying inside,” Ellen whined.
“We all are but it is for the best,” Nicoll returned.
“Best for who?”
“For you,” Nicoll answered.
“We cannot let the French discover us,” Tempest reminded her youngest sister. “As soon as Mr. McNaught returns, I am certain that we will be able to enjoy being outside once again.”
With her words, came a boot scrape on the terrasse.
They stilled and watched the door anxiously. With her heart pounding in an unnatural manner linked to fear for her sisters, Tempest grasped the long knife behind her and Nicoll shielded the two youngest.
When there was a knock at the door, Tempest put a finger to her lips.
It could be anyone and she was not about to call out. Instead, she quietly walked to the window and peeked through the blinds only to find Mr. McNaught staring back at her.
He should not have frightened them. “You could have announced yourself,” she said as she drew up the rolled reed.
“I am not certain you would have heard me,” he grumbled. “Your voices reached me before I stepped on the terrasse.
“We were being very quiet,” Tempest argued.
“Just because there is a door and there are reed vines covering the windows does not mean that sound doesn’t come through. It is not the same as having glass in those openings.”
She would remember that in the future but it was bad enough having to keep everyone inside and then expecting them not to speak would be impossible.
“Are the French soldiers gone?”
“They have returned to the fort and I did not see any others on my return.”
The tensions she’d been holding since yesterday slipped away. “You may go outside girls.”
“But stay near the house,” Mr. McNaught added.
Instantly they were on their feet and walking to the door.
“I will keep an eye on them,” Nicoll said, the last to exit.
“You may come in, Mr. McNaught.”
“Thank you.” He left the window and entered through the door. “I would like something to eat, if it is available.”
“Of course,” Tempest offered peacefully though she knew they would not remain amicable for long, or at least she assumed.
After placing an orange, bread and dried meat on the plate she handed it to him.
“What about a biscuit.”
“A biscuit?” she countered. For some reason he did not seem the type of man who would indulge in biscuits, yet, he had returned with them.
“Yes, a biscuit. I want one.”
She blew out a sigh and opened a tin then placed one on his plate.
“And the rum.”
“What rum?” Tempest asked innocently.
“My rum,” he ground out.
Their moment of peace had come to an end.
She stood back and gestured to the room. “I do not see any rum.”
Mr. McNaught glowered at her. “Where is it?”
Tempest crossed her arms over her chest. “Hidden.”
She stood back as he opened every cabinet then looked behind the food on the shelves. In fact, he looked every place that a bottle could be hidden.
“Why can I not find them?”
“I did not claim that they were hidden in here.”
“They must be!” he yelled. “You were not supposed to leave the house so you could not have hidden the bottles anywhere else.”
“I assure you that my younger siblings did remain inside and that I used extreme caution.”
He narrowed his eyes, his face hardened. For the first time, she noticed a tick in his jaw and Tempest wondered if she had gone too far.
“Why?”
“Because you drink entirely too much of it.”
“That is my concern and not yours.”
“You always have a bottle with you. It is what you drink when you are thirsty. It is not something that you should engage in around impressionable children.”
“I did not ask them or you to come here,” he reminded her. “Besides, you have already removed me from my home and took my clothing, it is too far to take a man’s rum.”
Tempest crossed her arms over her chest. “You will have it back when we are rescued.”
“I want it back now.”
Tempest took a step back at his yelling at her. “I must insist.”
Mr. McNaught turned and stomped out of the hut.
“It is for your own good,” she called even though he would certainly disagree with her.
Mr. McNaught stopped, turned and marched back to the hut.
“I decide what is for my own good. Not you!” he informed her. “What do you have against rum? Have you even seen me slightly drunk or incapacitated?”
She blinked at him, not certain what to say.
“No. You have not,” he answered for her. “What turned you against rum, anyway?”
Well, she did not really want to tell him because it was something she would like to forget.
“I am not against rum. I am against excess drinking of spirits because…well…because…Our safety depends on you being sober.” That was all she would say.
He did not need to know her past of encountering gentlemen often invited to her father’s home in Dominica, and usually amiable, but there were a few who had drunk too much at a dinner, then thought to press their advances on her.
They had not succeeded, as she could defend herself, but those few experiences left her weary of men who indulged and as she did not know Mr. McNaught’s character well enough, it was best to keep him sober for the sake of her sisters.