“To marry you.” Her voice held a touch of wistfulness. “To live here on the island with our children and savor every sunrise and sunset.”
Their eyes locked.
We’ve not talked about children.
Heat filled her face as a smile came to his. Children. His thoughts ran ahead like hers, she knew it.
“A good half dozen of them is my hope,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a son to call my own. And daughters.”
He took the words right out of her mouth. ’Twas almost too much happiness to hold. Her soul overflowed with it. His gaze intensified. Was she making it harder, their parting? ’Twas not her intent.
His gaze canted toward a window. “’Tis time to mind the light.”
One last time. Together.
CHAPTER
forty-six
The cry of gulls woke her. For a moment Esmée drifted, eyes closed, before a heady reality rushed in. Today was the day of Henri’s departure.
Snowflakes crystallized against the wind-beaten pane in icy elegance. All night the tower had illuminated a white world beyond the cottage, but she felt as unprepared for the cold as the events of the day. The next hour was spent in the usual routines of dressing and breakfasting that were now anything but normal. One look out the window at Henri’s cottage, the chimney furiously puffing smoke, reminded her how cold he’d be aboard ship.
Lucy accompanied her to where theIntrepidlay at anchor. Men crawled over it like ants, readying for departure. Snow festooned the vessel like it was Christmas morn.
She would be strong. Brave. She would not let him see her sorrowful.
Snow turned theIntrepidinto a ghost ship. Henri stood by the quarterdeck rail, turned away from Esmée rather than toward her.No need to make their leave-taking more difficult than it already was. There was little time for it anyway, the holystoned decks a frenzy of activity. The crew was busy obeying Henri’s order to put to sea, catting the anchor and securing it to the side of the ship.
Goodbye, ma belle.
The sentiment was cut short by the exhilarating rush he always felt upon facing the open ocean, the wind a roar in his ears, snowflakes stinging his skin. The cold drove all warm thoughts of Esmée away, at least temporarily. TheIntrepidbore northeast in a squalling snowstorm, the waves hitting the ship’s black sides and lifting the bowsprit skyward, sending a shudder through the vessel as it rolled then resettled into an even keel. His balance, finely honed over the years, took every pitch, roll, and heave in stride. Even the groans of the woodwork failed to unsettle him.
How many journeys had he made? He’d lost count of them all. He stood frozen in place by the capstan, a prayer for safety and wisdom on his lips, and looked up through white, stinging sleet, barely able to discern the lookout high above. A frostbitten business on such a day. Once upon a time he’d climbed the mizzen rigging and ratlines like Hermes, clutching his spyglass all the way. But now all he wanted was the leaping hearth’s fire of the cottage and Esmée’s company.
That night in his cold cabin, he sharpened a quill and opened his leather journal.
We got under sail with a snow. Heavy seas.
He would not pen his own feelings about the matter.If I could have jumped overboard and swum back to the island, I would have.
Their goodbyes had been whispered in the lighthouse shadows, a dozen lingering kisses in between. He’d pressed his lips to her hair. Her fragrant throat. The little hollow of her shoulder.
And then the next morn, once theIntrepidwas far enough out that the island was reduced to a mere speck, he’d turned his back toward Esmée, not trusting his reaction. But her memory held, as real and intoxicating as if she’d been standing on the quarterdeck beside him.
All day Esmée had been restless. Had Henri really been away but a sennight? It seemed far longer. Sewing could not hold her. She had no taste for tea. A discarded novel lay at hand. By nightfall, a chill had trailed down her spine that had little to do with the change of weather. It sent her to her knees at sunset, a peculiarly scarlet sunset bright as holly berries. Or blood. Kneeling beside the trunk of letters Henri had left her, she bent her head, hardly knowing what needed praying for.
Lord, You are with him wherever he is. I know not. Please hedge him and his crew from harm and bring him back to me.
Henri missed the sound of birds singing. The drowsy warmth of a hearth’s fire. The scent of baked bread. The sigh of the wind in the trees and firm ground beneath his feet. Not screeching gulls or the knifelike wind. Nor tasteless ship’s biscuits and endless water—one moment blue and the next silver, always uncertain, at the whim of wind and weather.
But mostly he missedher.
Taking up his spyglass, he studied the handsome French frigate at a distance. Till now they’d not come to close quarters with the enemy. Just two false alarms from English merchantmen before this. But now...
His soul went still. “All hands clear the ship for action.”
At his command, organized chaos ensued, everything scuttled on behalf of the guns. The galley’s fire was put out. His own quarters became almost unrecognizable as furnishings were shoved aside and all munitions were prepared to the last detail.
